A Man in Full
by ariel2me
Summary: A collection of ficlets on Stannis Baratheon's relationship with various people in his life.
1. Chapter 1: In the Company of Others

What was he in the eyes of gods and men? In the eyes of a god he had made use of but had trouble believing. In the eyes of men who claimed to fight for him but in truth were fighting for others – R'hllor, the North, Ned Stark. A king who sat on no throne except one of his own making, carved from his unshakeable notion of right and duty. A purported promised savior wielding a cold, cold sword, colder than his own heart.

What was he in the eyes of a knight? In the eyes of a knight holding on desperately to his finger bones for dear life. A lord, a king, a man owed loyalty. A man owed honest counsel and the truth, as harsh and bitter as it may be.

What was he in the eyes of a priestess? In the eyes of a priestess with convictions stronger than his own. Her lord's chosen, her god's weapon against the darkness and the night that never ends. A man who was hers to wield, as she and her god were his to wield.

What was he in the eyes of a wife? In the eyes of a wife wielding power of her own, through her family and the god she chose and the priestess she brought into their midst. A man who could rise and rise, if only he was willing and ready. A coldness chillier than the wind beyond the Wall, but one she was resigned to, familiar and recognizable as it was.

What was he in the eyes of a daughter? In the eyes of a daughter said to be a sadder child than he had been. A story heard from the lips of others. A breeze that passed too quickly to be felt or understood.

What was he in the eyes of a brother? In the eyes of a brother whose untimely death set the motion for war and bloodshed. The man who said 'No', the chastiser, the scolder, the lecturer. The blood brother who was less of a brother than a cherished man from the North.

What was he in the eyes of a little brother? In the eyes of a little brother who still haunted his dreams, night after endless night. A source of endless mockery and laughs. A fatal shadow passing through the night.

What was he in the eyes of a maester? In the eyes of a maester who loved him best of all, among the three brothers. A boy who lived in his brother's eternal shadow, a shadow that never lifted even with the brother's death. A man who deserved better, much better, than the life he lived.

What was he in the eyes of a bastard? In the eyes of a bastard he had dangled Winterfell and the prospect of legitimacy to. A man claiming to be king, among many claiming the same; but the only one who had answered when the Black Brothers called.

What was he in the eyes of a prisoner? In the eyes of a prisoner who was willing to bend the knee, temporarily, if it meant she would live to fight another day. A captor she wished to escape and dreamed about killing. A man supremely uncomfortable in the company of women, harsh or gentle. A mystery, an enigma that nevertheless piqued her interest.

What was he in his own eyes? The man he always was, the man he had always been, the man he would always be, he insisted steadfastly, adamantly. But if he had lost faith in many things, he had lost faith in that most of all.


	2. Chapter 2: All that I Am

"Tell me who I am," he had never asked her.

"You are the Lord's chosen, the prince that was promised, Azor Ahai reborn," she had repeated all the same. But not to convince him, never to convince him; for she knew that to convince the world was a less futile task. She had never needed convincing herself, she knew, had always known. The flame does not lie.

"The flame is full of trickery," was his rejoinder. What is, what will be, what could be, what may be - warnings and prophecies all tangled up and mistaken for one another.

"Blame me, not the flame, and certainly not our god," she had told him. The reader is at fault, not the book, for misreading a prophecy.

But his faith - if he had any at all - was never in the flame, or in her god. It was in her, with her, about her. The fear she struck in the hearts of men. The mysterious power she had over life and death. But mostly death. She was his new hawk, his red hawk, not R'hllor, not the Lord of Light.

Still, he would let her believe what she wanted to believe.

"My power comes from my god. The one you doubt," she would have told him, if she thought it would have made any difference.

She, too, would let him believe what he wanted to believe.

What he told himself he wanted was only what was rightfully his, as dictated by rules and laws. What he really wanted was for the world to make sense, to be ordered, to behave as it should, always.

What she told herself she wanted was only to serve her god. What she really wanted was to save the world.

"Tell me who I am," he did ask her, at the end of all things.

"You are my king," she thought of saying. "You are a man, for good and ill," she replied instead.


	3. Chapter 3: A Child in Time

He was not present for her birth. She was the girl born amidst salt and smoke at Dragonstone, while her father labored unheralded in King's Landing for his royal brother. Her mother's scream was muted even in labor; Selyse was a woman who kept her own counsel. A raven was sent to King's Landing announcing the birth, and a raven was what came back to Dragonstone, not Shireen's father.

He came home when she almost died. His first touch was on the dead, flaky skin on her cheek, a legacy of her illness.

"Are you certain it does not hurt her? Absolutely certain?" He had asked the maester over and over again.

"She will not feel anything there, my lord," the maester had assured and reassured him.

She did not cry when he finally held her in his arms. Her eyes wide open, staring at this stranger who had never held her before, this man who should have held her long before this, she had let out a gurgle that startled her father. He considered her as if he was considering a fully grown woman. He stared at her wide blue eyes, the same color as his own, wondering what her thoughts consisted of.

He left again, back to his duties and his brother, and she saw him only occasionally. She grew and grew, learned to read and write, learned not to lament his absence. His letters were dull and dutiful, devoid of any feeling or sentiment. "I have missed you," he had never written. "I love you," he had never said. She was shy and wary with him, a father who was more like a distant uncle. He was inconsistent with her, alternating between extreme brusqueness and excessive courtesy. She had a thousand questions and a million stories to tell him, but her tongue always came up short in her father's presence.

The unexpected death of the King's Hand, and the appointment of a new Hand, suddenly precipitated her father's return to Dragonstone. Absence turned into continuous presence, if only in body and not in spirit and mind. He was home, but not really. He was there with them, but barely. He spoke not a word during meals, spent his time brooding over the injustice his older brother had visited upon him once more. "Storm's End should have been Shireen's inheritance," he thought, fixating over the old injustice, never forgotten or forgiven.

Another death changed many things for her. She was now a princess. Princess Shireen. Her father was still home, but more preoccupied than before. Letters and ravens and ships and knights, all clamoring for his attention. He left for battle without saying goodbye. He came home, defeated, without saying anything at all.

Her mother's uncle incurred her father's wrath for conspiring to trade her away to the enemy. "She is my only child, my rightful heir," he had shouted. The child he had barely paid attention to, the reproachful voice in his head – his constant companion these days – was reminding him.

She is better off without my bitterness and my fury infecting her, he tried to convince himself. And my despair.

"Will you miss Cousin Edric if he is gone?" He had not dared ask her.

"I miss Cousin Edric," she had told him anyway, after the bastard boy was safely smuggled away by his onion knight. "Will he be coming back?" She had asked. He had no answer to that.

"Will you miss me if I am gone?" He had no intention of asking her that.

"I will miss you every day, Father. I will pray for your safe return," she had told him anyway, when he left her and her mother at Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, on his way to battle the wildlings. "Will you promise me that you will come back?" She had asked. He had no answer to that either, except to touch her scarred cheek once more, a repeat of his first touch, and fervently wished that it would not be his last.


End file.
